


Dust Threshold

by MorganEAshton



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Age of Consent, Alpha Timeline, Alternate Universe, Boundaries, Consanguinamory, Dave's POV, Falling In Love, M/M, Minor Injuries, POV Second Person, Stridercest - Freeform, Unreliable Narrator, relationship dynamics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-16
Updated: 2015-01-25
Packaged: 2018-03-01 20:00:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2785868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorganEAshton/pseuds/MorganEAshton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Some things are fragile, like sandcastles and snowmen.  They're swept to sea and they melt away, with the childhoods they represent...</i>
</p><p> </p><p>He's not a child anymore, and things aren't as simple as they used to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> I started this story a long while back. I've always found the idea of consensual incest (consanguinamory--literally "love with [shared] blood") to be a fascinating subject, and one that's normally either portrayed as disgusting or fetishized, rather than being seriously explored. I wanted to write a story about falling in love, but with the added complications of a preexisting family relationship. I also wanted to explore questions like, "What constitutes appropriate family intimacy?" and, "What really makes someone capable of consent?"
> 
> I hope you enjoy.
> 
> (This story is dedicated to my amazing SO, [Parasitic13](http://parasitic13.tumblr.com), without whose support and RP partnership it wouldn't exist. Love you!)

You stare at the controlled chaos that passed for a bedroom a few hours ago, and think the sense of accomplishment you're feeling may be unwarranted.

The once-soft pile of your carpet is now a gritty, twinkling mess of glitter and punched-out paper shapes. Slivers of decorative parchment and half-filled sheets of dollar store stickers pepper the area around your crossed legs. The air reeks of Elmer's and Sharpie. It's like craft day at the retirement home meets nuclear fallout, and it's fuckin' perfect.

You can't bring yourself to care that the new scrapbook takes up about ten times more space than the photos that went into it. For the next few minutes, you will wear the gold star you just stuck to your chest with pride, and nobody can stop you.

You flip through the collection of pages fondly, then you close the book and use colorful lettering to title it, "blakmael 7 (ages 13-15)". You stick it with the others and get to work cleaning up the evidence, because you suspect no amount of irony would stop your little brother from thinking you were hella weird for keeping a bunch of ridiculous secret scrapbooks of all his accomplishments growing up.

Your name is Dave Strider, and it takes you an hour or so before you give up on trying to vacuum. You fail at getting all the glitter, but at least you succeed at finding a piece of last year's tinsel. Somewhere between the simultaneous frustration at the former and amusement at the latter, you manage to completely forget about the gold star. 

When Dirk asks if it's to celebrate your recent addition to the Hollywood Walk of Fame, you lie and tell him yes.

\-------

Years before anyone knew who you were and your brother was a kid, you used to make the most of every moment you had together. It wasn't much between work shifts, but the little things became bonding moments. You weren't so good at the parenting schtick and you mostly had to wing it, but you sure as hell tried.

You're a pretty physical person when given half the chance, so breakfast time saw the two of you curled up together on the couch watching his favorite shows, and shopping involved your racing the cart around the store with him in it. You trained him to roughhouse and then swordfight like your dad taught you. You'd drape yourself over the back of his desk chair and let him prattle on about one of the technical interests it seemed he'd inherited from your mom.

Over the years, things changed. Your multiple minimum-wage jobs turned into a constant stream of schmoozing and negotiations as you broke into the movie biz. Despite the fact that you no longer had to worry about food and the roof over your head, you somehow ended up with less time than before. The things you did have time for, your bro outgrew as quickly as he did his clothing. Muppets and ponies were relegated to nostalgia status, and historians and Greek philosopers took their place. Dirk was a blindingly quick study with the sword, until you had almost nothing left to teach. His robotics and programming knowledge became too advanced for you to follow with your GED and lack of college.

Dirk was thirteen when he finally decided that being affectionate with his big bro was no longer cool. He was too old for that stuff, he'd insisted, and it was embarassing. You were famous by then and that made him famous by association, and he hated the attention enough without having you baby him in front of the paparazzi. Consequently, he was thirteen when, at a loss for other options, you let him be and fell headlong into your work.

\--------

He's fifteen now. You'd estimate it's probably around 3AM. He's standing by your bed and he wants to know if he can crawl in with you, because he had a nightmare.

He hasn't asked for anything like this since he instituted the ban, and it catches you off-guard. From what little you can see of him, he's as stoic as ever. He's got his arms crossed and he's staring off somewhere to the side, as if trying to play it off and look nonchalant.

Maybe he _is_ too old for this kind of thing; you're not sure. What you do know is you're too tired to argue with him or your own reasoning, and you've honestly missed being able to hold him for the past two years.

He slots in beside you, and you shift to accommodate him. When he was little, he used to curl up against your side with his head on your shoulder, and he seems to default to that position now. However, there's a drastic change from last time, and the feeling of him startles you somewhat. "You've gotten big, kiddo."

"You're just now noticing?"

"Nah. It's just different to feel it than to see it."

He snorts, and aims a playful jab to your stomach. "Maybe you've just shrunk."

You have most definitely not gotten any smaller. The lucky bastard just happened to get your dad's build. Your father was a pretty big dude, so his prodigal son's almost as tall as you are already, and at least as broad. It actually makes holding him a little awkward. On practicality alone, you wonder if it might actually be more comfortable to switch, put your head on one of his wide-as-fuck shoulders, curl against his barrel of a torso.

You don't. Dirk may someday grow to be the big brother physically, but you will always be the older one. Besides, he was the one with the nightmare.

You settle for rubbing his side in an attempt at comfort. It seems to work, because he drifts easily to sleep against you. You follow soon after.

\--------

You think he may just be making excuses now.

It's been a week, and Dirk's spent most nights with you. If you're completely truthful, you can't find it in you to care. You consider telling him you don't really mind all this and he can just come in if he wants, but you don't and you're vaguely aware that it's because that might be a little weird. 

Instead, you just let him make excuses, and you're pretty sure he knows you know.

\--------

After more than two weeks he finally just crawls in without saying a word. You welcome him with equal silence.

\--------

Dirk was thirteen when he decided that being affectionate with his big bro was no longer cool. Consequently, he was thirteen the first time you ever brought someone home while he was there.

You face a dilemma late the third week, when an attractive young woman catches your eye at a party. As you suspect, it doesn't take much conversation to reveal that she'd rather like to get acquainted.

Suddenly, the fact that you've shared your bed with your teenaged bro for nearing a month now is more than vaguely weird.

You consider the possibilities: You tell her no and maybe miss your chance with her, you text Bro that he needs to keep to his own bed tonight, or you bring her home and risk his probably walking in on you.

The third is obviously out of the question, and while you have every right to get some without your brother getting in the way, you politely decline the girl. If you're gonna address this shit, you figure the cool thing to do would be to give him more than a few hours' notice.

\--------

On the outside, he's impassive. "Yeah, whatever," he shrugs. "Thanks for letting me know."

You know better than to buy into the poker face you taught him, and despite yourself you feel like shit. There's a hint of a pout to his posture, and it makes him look young and subtly dejected. Even though you know logically that he's old enough to understand the birds and the bees, you're still seeing a piece of your baby bro in that look. It makes the whole thing feel a bit perverse, like you're tainting his innocent mind or something.

You should probably be annoyed that you're regressing back to a stage where you're being cockblocked by the kid. You remember those times: You barely ever got laid and almost never had relationships, because nobody wanted to deal with the schedules and the baggage. It kind of sucked.

On the other hand, growing away from your brother sucked, too.

You aren't quite sure if it's possible to balance those two extremes. All you do know is that you don't have anyone over tonight, so you invite him to cuddle.

He still looks a little hurt, but he curls against you nonetheless.

\--------

You stop coming onto people, and you turn down the next three who hit on you.

\--------

Glover catches you at the studio one day, brandishing a tabloid with your face under the headline, "Hollywood's Most Eligible Bachelor, Settling Down?" and asks you who the lucky lady is.

You almost spit your Starbucks caramel apple spice in his face. You barely manage to save his face, at the expense of your trachea.

\--------

You're pondering what to say to Dirk when he situates himself next to you on the couch and asks if you remember how you used to kiss his forehead sometimes when he was little.

You do remember, and you tell him so, leaving space for him to elaborate and wondering whether you actually want him to.

He doesn't, and the silence is uncomfortable.

You honestly aren't sure what to do about this. If he were still a kid, none of this would be worth a second thought. It's strange in the worst way, that something once so innocent seems somehow awkward and corrupt now. Is there some kind of rulebook for this, telling you at what age someone's supposed to be weaned off of this stuff and why?

If Dirk wants these little kiddy comforts at fifteen, does that mean something's wrong with him? And if you maybe, just a little bit, want to give them to him, is there something wrong with you?

Bullshit.

Without thinking too hard about it, you pull him in and you kiss his fucking forehead.

He relaxes, and you feel like you made the right decision.

\--------

You do bring someone home when the girl from the party asks again. She seems like a sweet lady, and her insistence appears to come from a genuine interest in getting to know you as a person.

You take her out to dinner beforehand because you think she might be girlfriend material, and it goes fairly well. She's smarter than a lot of the people you encounter on a day-to-day basis, and she seems to share your sense of humor.

It all goes wrong when you take her to bed.

You warned Dirk before the date, and he texted back a simple, "Okay." You don't see him when you come in, but his door is closed and there's light filtering from underneath it.

You shouldn't worry about him.

You worry about him.

You honestly never considered what it must be like for him, knowing his brother's getting laid in the next room. You know it wasn't so much an oversight as bold-faced neglect of the issue on your part, and the realization makes you feel like a complete asshole.

You remember that you were Dirk's age when a semi crushed your parents' car on a Houston highway. You remember how much of a child you felt when you were told they were dead, how nobody wanted to treat you as an adult when you fought to keep Dirk out of foster care. You remember that you've been bringing your one-night stands home since he was thirteen, an age where you were still innocent enough to think your parents would live forever, and you feel a little sick.

You ask if she'd be willing to try this again another time, when your brother isn't around.

She doesn't seem to appreciate your chronic case of cold feet. You can't exactly blame her for asking if it's something wrong with her, given the kind of reputation you've built for yourself. You try to explain to her that you're just going through some shit right now, and it needs to be worked out. She doesn't get what the big deal is, and she promises she'll be quiet and tells you to relax and let her make it all better. Then she sets her hands on your chest and makes a second attempt to unbutton your shirt.

You stop her and insist that now isn't the time. You're not in the mood, and this isn't fair to your bro.

She asks how old he is, and when she finds out he's fifteen she says he's old enough to deal. Despite the fact that it's the same reasoning you've used for two years, it makes you angry.

It quickly turns into a fight, and you're not really sure who started it but you decide she isn't girlfriend material after all.

You kick her out.

When Dirk was a kid, you had to weed people out based on whether they'd honor the fact that you were in the role of parent. You wonder when you stopped respecting Dirk and yourself enough for that to no longer be the case.

You're sitting on the couch with your head in your hands when a touch to your shoulder makes you jump. Dirk has his shades off, and he's making no effort to mask the concern in his expression.

You pull him into your arms and tell him you're sorry he had to hear that. You don't specify that you mean more than just the fight.

He's quiet for a while, calculating. Finally, he half-jokingly says that arguing isn't all that different from a nightmare, and he won't tell everyone how uncool you are if you need to crawl in with him tonight.

You take him up on the offer, and you put your head on one of his wide-as fuck shoulders and curl against his barrel of a torso. "This is weird," you tell him, because it is.

"Shut up and go to sleep," he says.

Despite the fact that you just kicked someone out to protect what innocence he has left and you kinda still want to pull him into your arms and coddle him, you shut up. Somehow, you even manage to sleep.

\--------

You find that you're kind of turned off dating for a while after that, and in the meantime you and Dirk fall into a sort of routine. Cuddling becomes kind of a Strider household staple, and for the most part you move back into your room. Some nights, seemingly at random, Dirk forces you into his and wraps his arms around you like you're the younger one.

You find it makes you feel like you are. It invariably brings you back to the loneliest times in your life, when all you wanted was for your parents to come back and hold you when you were scared.

You wonder if he knows.

You think that, knowing Dirk, he might.

\--------

The forehead kisses become a regular thing, too. You give him one in the morning and before bed, and each time one of you leaves the house or comes home. On days when the cuddling switches, so does that, and he kisses your forehead instead.

You're a little afraid of how small it makes you feel. You're terrified of what he must think, or worse what he might know.

You can't decide if it makes up a little bit for the past decade-and-a-half of having to act the adult, or if it's just _too much_.

You're searching for a way out when he asks what you think of the fact that some families kiss each other on the lips. You tell him you don't know, but that your mother did it sometimes.

He kisses you.

It's a foreign feeling. It takes a moment--as it has with everything else lately--for you to mentally re-define your relationship with Dirk to include this type of thing. It takes a longer moment for you to associate it with what your mom did, rather than what you've been doing for the past fourteen years. Despite that, it isn't unwelcome, so you give him a hint of a smile. Satisfied, he goes back to what he was doing.

You try it again that night, and it's nice because it's equal. You're not babying him, and, perhaps more importantly, you no longer have to deal with the squirming discomfort of _being_ babied _by_ him.

\--------

When you try to change your position one night so that you're on your sides facing each other, things get weird again. The balancing of roles that you welcomed before becomes strange in the darkness, when you're holding his broad body close. It's one thing to cuddle up on the false pretense of comforting through his nightmares, and it's uncomfortable but still almost acceptable to allow him to force you into being held. Without those excuses, you have to literally face the fact head-on that you're just holding him for the sake of holding him.

He either notices that it's weird or that you've tensed up, because he rubs your side consolingly, then stops like he's not quite sure if that's okay.

To save face, you shift onto your back again, but when he settles against you the illusion is broken. You've known he was making excuses since the beginning, and he's known you've known. Now you can't ignore it. It hangs heavy in the air, and despite the fact that you can reason logically that you're not doing anything wrong, it feels awkward nonetheless and you honestly don't know why.

"Why are we doing this?" you ask him, finally giving voice to a question that's echoed through your head for months now.

He shrugs, and once again feels very small.

"Did you really have a nightmare, that first night?"

He nods.

You're very quiet when you offer, "Do you wanna talk about it?

He shakes his head. "It wasn't that bad. Just made me remember how we used to do this, sometimes, and I missed it."

It's a little scary to hear, and a little moreso to admit, "I did, too."

"I know."

You have nothing to say to that.

"You're lonely, aren't you? That's why you're always dating around."

You have things you'd like to say to that, but you can't seem to will your mouth to move.

"I started wondering, recently, if the fact that you started sleeping with so many people had anything to do with you and me growing apart."

That reminds you of something. Between your second and third Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff films, one of your associates asked you if you were considering directing other things. She handed you a novel by a woman named Rose Lalonde and assured you that the challenge would be right up your alley.

It was one of the most convoluted pieces of bullshit you'd ever read. Even though it took you close to a year to slowly slog through the ridiculously obtuse language, you still made a scene at one of her book signings when you showed up and asked if she wanted to make a deal.

Rose considered you with a bored expression that managed to look right through you, and bluntly told you she wasn't interested in a movie adaptation. She then reminded you she had a P.O. box specifically for queries and asked you in front of a line of fans and press if your constant attention-seeking was an attempt to compensate for deficiencies in your youth.

Sometimes you forget that you jokingly call her your spiritual sister because of her similarities to Dirk. Now is not one of those times.

Though your bro's normally openly confident about his psychological assessments, this time he sounds a little cautious. You can feel him trying to search your face in the dim light filtering in through your bedroom window. "Then I started crawling in with you, and you stopped bringing people home."

You almost snap back that it's because you can't bring anyone home to a full bed, but you've already gone over that issue and you know as well as he does that it wasn't the real reason.

You don't like it. You don't like the idea that you could prefer something you did when, really, you were both kids over everything you've tried as an adult. How is just holding your baby bro so much better? That's not how it's supposed to be. You're supposed to get a partner, get married, and never be lonely again.

The kid's allowed to need to be held. You're not allowed to need to be held by the kid, especially when he might not really be a kid anymore.

"It's okay, Bro," he offers.

You want to believe it. You want to, because it's the best you've felt in ages, but you feel stripped bare, flayed open, and a little like a failure.

"I'm lonely, too." He buries his face in your shoulder. "I need this." 

You know what your response is supposed to be. Dirk's at or close to the age where he should start looking at dating, himself. That's why kids are supposed to stop doing shit like this at a certain age, isn't it? They're supposed to stop needing their parent figures and move on to other people.

But you've been there, done that, and it's really not the same.

In a perfect world, you think, neither of you would have to choose. You wouldn't have to pick between this pure and simple intimacy with the person you gave your youth for, and a chance at happiness with someone new. You wouldn't have to feel like your choices for him laid between keeping him safe but potentially crippling him for future relationships, or abandoning him to the uncertainty of dating. In a perfect world, you'd both be free to try, without feeling like your safety net was being ripped from underneath you. You wouldn't have to sacrifice so much of your connection to someone you already care about for a gamble.

Would this be different if you were sisters instead of brothers? Do girls have to go through this? What about people from other cultures? Are there people in the world to whom this would feel perfectly normal? You guess it's a moot point anyway, because as much as you wish it were, it's not you.

"Do you wanna keep doing this?"

He barely hesitates. "Yes."

You figure that's all the reason you need. You'll deal with any issues as you get to them.

\--------

You get to a major roadblock pretty quickly, when you wake early one morning to a sound that's suspiciously close to a moan.

Oh, god.

Dirk's asleep, that much is clear, but he's panting lightly and letting out occasional little sounds of pleasure. When he shifts, there's no mistaking the feeling of an erection against your thigh.

Your body freezes, but your mind is spinning. This is most definitely, undeniably, insecapably weird. Well, at least it answers one of your questions: This would not be a thing that'd be happening if he were still pre-pubescent.

Your first instinct is to shove him off of you, and you barely stop yourself. No, that's not how to deal with this. He has no fucking clue what he's doing. If you flip shit and wake him up, he's gonna be ashamed about something that ain't his fault. He may still figure out what happened when he wakes on his own, but you figure the least you can do is not make him confront it while disoriented and unsatisfied.

Still, no way are you about to let him keep humping your leg like he's doing now.

You try to be careful when you disengage his hand from its vice grip on your shirt, and untangle his legs from yours. You set your hand on his shoulder and slowly maneuver him onto his back so you can escape.

"Dave," he pleads, and the _need_ in it makes your blood run cold.

You check to make sure he's still asleep, then reassure yourself that it doesn't mean anything. You remember when you dreamt about the nice elderly neighbor from when Dirk was six, the one who used to knit and bake cookies and watch him for you when you couldn't afford a babysitter. You were sure as hell not attracted to her, and there's no way Dirk's attracted to you. Maybe you're just spending too much time together, saturating his subconscious.

The thought makes something in you ache. The thought of trying to fix it is worse.

You think you manage to make it out unnoticed, and you distract yourself cooking breakfast until he wakes. You act like you don't see him when he slips from your bedroom and sneaks to his. You pretend not to notice that he comes out in different boxers.

"You want your eggs scrambled and smothered, right?" You almost wince at the crack in your voice.

"Yeah. 'Course." He's clipped, tense.

You plate the food without a word, and you almost miss when he thanks you.

Neither of you looks at the other when you settle down on the couch. You're quiet enough that the sound of your forks on the ceramic practically echoes.

It's painfully obvious you're both on edge about the same thing, so you figure avoiding the subject won't do either of you any good. "It was just a dream. Everyone has them, sometimes."

He goes rigid at the confirmation that you know, with a sharp inhale through his nose. You chance a glance at him and try to make it comforting, and he side-eyes you to try and gauge your reaction. Slowly, as the seconds tick by, he releases his breath and his body relaxes incrementally.

Your sigh sounds almost as relieved. You didn't realize just how stiff your shoulders had grown, until they slumped.

He chews thoughtfully, staring past the plate to the table. You both almost finish your meals before he asks, "Bro? Does it mean anything to dream about someone you know?"

You try to follow his eyeline to see what he's looking at, but you think he may just be spacing out. "Not necessarily, but I guess you're the only one who can really answer that."

His brows furrow. "I don't think it means anything."

You do your best not to show how grateful you are.

"Does this change things?"

It might, but you don't want it to, so you shake your head and try to believe yourself.

"...Thanks."

"Yeah."

The conversation ends there. Dirk has schoolwork and you have filming, so you get ready to go your separate ways. You consider trying to leave without an encounter, but that would mean things had changed after all, so you find yourself standing awkwardly before him at the door.

When you kiss him goodbye, it's tainted with the memory of the desire in his voice, and you have to fight not to flee.

\--------

Some things are fragile, like sandcastles and snowmen. They're swept to sea and they melt away, with the childhoods they represent.

You find yourself in a state of entropy, thoughts falling out of order and particles drifting apart. Dirk drifts, too, back to his bed instead of yours, and doesn't invite you to follow.

Things are weird and things have changed, despite your best efforts. Dirk's ashamed, and even though you know it's not his fault you don't know how to comfort him. Truth be told, you're ashamed, too, of the way your gut twists into painful knots at the thought of it.

Did you cause this, by letting things unfold the way they did?

Some things are fragile, like cars and the people inside them, like relationships between brothers.

Like boundaries, breathed away with one accidental word. 

Like thresholds made of dust.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dealing with a difficult situation.

A week passes, then another, and you need to talk to someone because people are asking questions.

You have money and access to professionals, but this is sensitive. If you really did screw up--if they even _suspect_ you screwed up--you can't afford the loss of doctor-patient confidentiality that comes with the protection of a minor.

You visit Rose.

"To what entity do I owe thanks for granting me the honor of your esteemed presence today, Mister Strider?" Her dark-stained lips quirk up in the barest hint of a sardonic smirk.

Normally, you'd play along, quip back with something long-winded and witty. You don't. You hesitate.

Rose's expression immediately shifts. "Come in, sit down. Let me have Kanaya put on the kettle."

You nod and sit on the couch.

She sweeps into the next room for a moment to speak to her girlfriend, then returns and settles on the armchair directly facing you. She smooths a crease in her skirt primly. "I should have known this was serious. You don't normally seek out my counsel willingly."

"It's about Bro."

There aren't many people who know your story. Rose does. Rose knows what your brother means to you, and the gravity of those three words causes her jaw to tighten slightly, set into a tense line. "Go on."

"He's been sorta...I dunno. Acting like a kid again. Asking me to hold him and stuff."

To your relief, she doesn't seem to have anything to say to that, except to ask, "Has he given any indication as to what's prompted this behavior?"

"He came into my room one night and asked if he could crawl in because he had a nightmare. He said later the nightmare itself wasn't that bad. It just reminded him how he used to be able to ask for that kinda shit, I guess."

She looks thoughtful, letting out a little hum. "Did you allow it?"

You don't know if you want to answer that, but after some hesitation, you nod.

"Dave," she tilts her head, leaning forward. "Surely you aren't here because of that event alone."

You take the prompt, explaining how it went on much longer than that one night. You tell her about the kissing, about the switching of roles.

She seems to have a little trouble gathering her next thoughts. "It is odd, particularly given your relationship with Dirk in the past. While, out of context, I wouldn't fret too much on the actions themselves, your prior lack of contact plus the frequency plus Dirk's age and customary temperament make it more unusual and may suggest something lacking in your lives that needs to be addressed."

You're not particularly surprised by the response, and you're somewhat glad Rose seems to be taking things well so far. You take a deep breath. "There's more."

She folds her hands in front of her and fixes you with sober scrutiny. You suspect she might be uncomfortable, though you could just be projecting. "What is it?"

"He had a wet dream. About me." You're quick to add before she can respond, "He seemed kinda freaked out about it, and he asked if it had to mean anything. I told him it didn't, and he said he didn't think it did. It was just..."

She nods gravely, not forcing you to find a word for it. "Are you worried it did mean something?"

"A little. I guess. It's more like, " you adjust your shades to give you a moment to consider, "I'm worried I somehow caused this, by allowing him to do all that stuff."

There's a quiet knock at the doorframe.

"Excuse me," Rose says. She goes to the door and takes a fancy tea tray from Kanaya, who peeks in and gives you a dainty wave, her expression empathetic.

You wave back.

Rose brings the tray and prepares your drink for you quietly as Kanaya leaves again. She hands it to you carefully, mindful of your shaky hands. "Apologies for the interruption. However, I tend to consider tea a somewhat calming gesture of hospitality, and wondered if you might feel the same way."

"It's okay. Thanks." You sip, hoping it will act as a good cue for her to speak.

She settles her own saucer on one thigh and holds the handle of the teacup steady, a tiny ceramic tentacle wrapped around her finger. "Dreams are ephemeral and unpredictable things. I think more important than what caused it--which you may or may not ever discover for certain--is how you and Dirk react to it."

"Any suggestions? 'Cause right now I got no idea what to do."

"I think that depends. It's a delicate situation, and it could change based on your feelings on the matter."

"I'm not the best with feelings, in case you haven't noticed."

"I have," she shrugs. "But I think it's important that you're absolutely clear on how you feel about this. Frankly, you've no excuse not to try, particularly given what's at stake."

You take another sip of tea. A bigger one, pointedly filling your mouth so you don't have to speak.

"For example, I think it's important to discern how you would react if it were revealed that the dream meant something after all."

You have to force yourself to swallow. It turns into one of those cases where you swallow too much at a time and feel it the whole way down, a hot and painful lump. "Do you think it might?" you manage to croak out.

"It's impossible to tell. Only Dirk can say for sure, and even he may not be allowing himself to find the answer. Regardless, being mentally and emotionally prepared for what many would consider the worst-case scenario will ensure that you are not caught off-guard." She sips, herself, leaving what seems to be a dramatic pause. "Unless, of course, it is not actually that potential for which you, personally, need to prepare?"

You stare at her. "What are you implying?"

"I'm not. I am asking. Would finding out that Dirk dreamt about you out of genuine attraction be worse than what you believe to be true now?"

"How could it not be? I don't _want_ my bro to want to have sex with me."

"That's not what I said, Dave."

"Then what the hell are you saying?"

"What you said earlier suggested to me that you may not actually be bothered so much by Dirk's having an attraction to you as by the idea that the dream--whether caused by lust or no--was a result of your own actions."

"Still freaks me out, you know? What do you do about that kind of thing?"

"Would it change your feelings towards Dirk?" Her voice is gentle.

You think about that, then shake your head. "Nothing could change the fact that he's the coolest bro I could have asked for."

Rose smiles, without a hint of her usual sarcasm. "Then I don't think you have anything to worry about."

"But what if I did cause it? I know I haven't made the best decisions. First I basically neglected him and fucked people while he was there, and then I did the polar opposite."

"Once again, I believe the most important thing is not the cause of the event, but what you are going to do about it." She sets her teacup down on the table and comes around to sit beside you on the couch. "But if you were to ask me of the likely cause, I would theorize that all of this indicates that Dirk desires in some form to be closer to you," She sets her hand on your shoulder and rubs lightly, "and you, closer to him."

\--------

You spend some time rehearsing what to say to Dirk. You pace and you write down at least ten different versions just like you would scripts or raps, but in the end you don't use a single one.

You just take off your shades and say, "Sorry for freaking out. That wasn't cool of me," and you hold open your arms.

He searches your face, then gives you the barest shadow of a smile and hugs you back. "So am I."

"Nothing to be sorry for."

He just holds you tighter.

\--------

That night you go to bed early, and leave your door open.

He comes in not long after, shutting the door behind him.

You hold the sheets up for him.

"What if it happens again?" he asks as he gets in beside you.

"What do you want to happen?"

"Wake me up?"

"Okay."

And that's that.

\--------

It takes a couple of weeks before another incident. You don't know if he's dreaming about you again or not, but you don't wait to find out. You just nudge his shoulder until he wakes, then offer up your bathroom if he needs it.

He takes the offer gratefully, then crawls back in with you.

You rub his back and wait for him to fall back asleep, then you follow.

\--------

You go back to dating after some time, but you make a conscious decision that if you're gonna bring someone home or leave Dirk by himself to go to their place, that they'd better be worth it. Going on multiple dates before sex proves to be a novel concept, but not unpleasantly so.

In about a year's time you only find a couple people you feel worth getting closer to. Dirk notices the difference in your approach, and he doesn't seem that upset when it does happen. You think maybe he was actually just worried about you all along.

Neither of the relationships last, and you have to get pretty well-acquainted with your hand, but overall you think things are better.

\--------

You didn't realize how much you needed a Bro, until you really had one.  
Now that you're more evenly matched, the strifes turn from training to a friendly ongoing competition between you. You play games and make fun of terrible movies together. You sprawl out over the couch in tangles of bony limbs, with a complete disregard for each others' comfort or personal space. You let him show you his projects and just admire the finished work, and you tell him about some ideas you've been having.

You're in between films, and while you'd normally be busting your ass to crank out a new script and renew contracts, you take your time and take on a new set of priorities.

When you step back and look at your life, you actually take notice of the fact that you have that luxury now. 

You didn't have the time or money to celebrate your sixteenth birthday. You pull out all the stops for Dirk's, because you can and because he's the reason you fought so hard for success in the first place.

He tries his hardest to hide it, but you catch him smile, and you catch him laugh.

You catch your own face following suit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays, everyone! And if you don't celebrate any holidays this time of year (and even if you do), happy today! You deserve to celebrate your existence. You're awesome! ♥
> 
> New chapter next Tuesday. :3
> 
> And for anyone who wants to know, my Tumblr is miyamashi, as well.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new revelation.

You've grown close enough with Dirk that you can tell when something's wrong. He shows it in the opposite way you normally do, quieting instead of rambling nervously, movements more subdued instead of fidgety.

"What's up?"

He sips on his soda pensively. "I don't know if I wanna talk about it."

You sit beside him. "Well, if you change your mind, I'm here."

His posture closes off, shoulders hunching. "I may have to talk to someone else. Like a therapist or something."

That has you worried, so you try to search his eyes over the earpiece of his shades. "Is it really that bad?"

He seems to notice that you're cheating, so he turns his head towards you to block your view. "Promise you won't freak out?"

"I promise to try." You give him a lopsided smile that you hope is reassuring.

"I dunno if you know, but I like guys." He shrugs, attempting to look noncommittal. "I don't know that I'd call myself gay, but I haven't really found any girls who do it for me."

"Are you really worried about that? 'Cause, to be honest, I kinda guessed." You chuckle, relieved, before realizing laughing at that probably wasn't the most appropriate response.

Thankfully, he seems neither surprised nor offended. "I haven't exactly been subtle."

You're a little confused by that. For how worried he was, that's an awfully laid-back response. You know Dirk's good at putting fronts, so you decide to try and offer some kind of comfort anyway. "For what it's worth, I can't say anything. I'd be lying if I said I hadn't experimented."

That does seem to catch him off-guard. "Really?"

"What can I say?" You throw up your hands. "I like to keep an open mind."

"How open?" He blurts it out almost awkwardly, but his voice carries a weight to it, suddenly tense and deathly serious.

It sidewinds you a bit with how abrupt it is, and you find yourself staring. "That wasn't all, was it?"

He shakes his head, slowly and purposefully, then takes a shallow and shuddering breath, like he's fighting to remain composed.

"Then what else is there?" you question, with a degree of caution.

He swallows. "I think you can figure out the answer to that yourself."

You stare at the resolved tenseness of his mouth and the way his face dusts pink as he sees you looking, and you can. You sort of wish you couldn't. "How long?"

You think he understood what you were really asking, because he says, "More recently than that time," and doesn't feel the need to specify as to what event he's referring. 

You're relieved anout that part, at least. You don't know what you would have done, had this been going on for more than a year. "How much more recently?"

He shrugs again. "Pretty recently. Like a few weeks or something?"

"How severe are we talking, here?"

"It's bad enough to make me freak out a little, which is to say," he gestures meaninglessly to the air, "it's a thing at all, I guess." His hand drops, almost defeatedly.

You're the most afraid to ask, "Why?"

"I guess just 'cause there's nobody else."

"Why isn't there?"

"Just haven't really found anyone."

"Have you looked?"

He shakes his head, "I've never been in any rush. I never saw the point. I just figured when the right person came along, I'd know."

You'd suggest he try harder, but you know from experience that you can't force it. You don't think you really want him to follow in your footsteps, in that regard. "And this happened instead."

He hangs his head. "I don't know why, okay? I just looked up some shit that got me curious, then the curiosity led to a fantasy, then that led to..."

"Right." You take a deep inhale, then slowly let it out to bide time, pinching the bridge of your nose. "What do you actually want to happen here?"

"I don't know. On one hand, I don't want it." Want you, he doesn't say. "On the other, I really fuckin' do."

You level your eyes with his, through two pairs of shades. "I don't think I'm that open-minded."

Rather than shrinking into himself, as you expected, he seems to gather his nerves, sitting straighter. "Not even for a kiss?"

"We do kiss."

"You know what I mean."

You feel small compared to him. You are, really, now that he's pretty much caught up to your height. That doesn't change the fact that he's sixteen. "Have you ever even been kissed before? Like that?"

"No."

"Your first kiss is supposed to be special."

"Was it special for you?"

He has you there.

"I know how to guarantee it will be. There's only one person in the world I'll always love, no matter what happens."

You're more floored by the words than anything. You can't remember the last time either of you said, "I love you," despite all of your newfound closeness and physical affection. You have to gather yourself enough to say, "That's not..."

"Why not?" He's gentler when he implores, "It's just a kiss, Bro. I'm not going to ask you for more than that. I know you could get in trouble, but a kiss isn't illegal, and nobody would have to know."

"It's not me I'm worried about."

"But I'm the one asking."

Even if you can't see his eyes and he can't see yours, you can no longer keep looking at him. You stare at your knees, and your wringing hands atop them. "I can't. I'm sorry."

You think he looks away, too, but you don't peek to check. "Okay. I understand." Even more quietly, he adds, "Are we still cool?"

"Yeah," you tell him, and you find his hand with yours. "Always."

\--------

"Am I still allowed to...?" he asks from beside your bed.

"Come on." You take him into your arms as usual. You're surprised how little it bothers you, how much you trust him. How glad you are he's here, despite.

He buries his face in your shoulder and lets out a muffled, "Thanks."

\--------

It's been ages since you last switched places. You're not sure if he picked up on how uncomfortable the idea made you, or if he's just not had a reason to do it.

That changes, after a day fraught with guilt and second-guesses. He seems to pick up instinctively on the way the whole situation makes you feel like an inadequate parent, like the fumbling stand-in you really are.

Ridiculously, something about the way he takes your hand and leads you to his room makes you feel a bit like a blushing virgin. You immediately wanna slap yourself for the thought, and the unanticipated association with your recent conversation makes the hair at the nape of your neck prickle.

Nonetheless, you try to shake it off. Letting Dirk get all protective with you is awkward enough as it is, and you especially don't need to toe the line of appropriateness any more than you already are.

You fail miserably.

Now that he has the reins, you feel a difference in his touches. It's subtle, but he handles you with what seems to be a kind of hesitant reverence, stopping just short of areas that could be deemed sensual. It's tender in a new way, knowing what you now know, and you marvel at the profound and inexplicable distinction between what you feel for him and what you've felt for others in the past.

Despite all your guilt, despite all your doubts, a thought crops up that terrifies you: Would it really be so bad, to give him one little kiss?

You try to stamp it out, push it away, reason against it. You panic a little when you can't.

"Bro?" He sounds worried, and you know damn well it's because you've gotten antsy.

Against your better judgment, you don't leave to gather your thoughts and your wits; you don't think you could bear seeing the hurt in his eyes if you did. Instead, you say, "Hey," and shift to your side, guiding him to follow and face you.

It feels right in this situation, to act as equals. At the very least, it doesn't seem quite as wrong.

He searches your eyes for answers, but he finds them in the hand cupping his jaw, coaxing him gently, tentatively closer. He gasps and you can feel the way it pulls and cools the air between you.

"Do you still want this?"

"You're actually up for taking this further?" He sounds hopeful.

His reaction allays your worries somewhat, but you still feel the need to leave him one last opening to change his mind. You take a moment to give yourself the same courtesy before you nod. "But only if you're absolutely, positively sure this is how you want your first kiss to go. Only if it really will make it special."

He nods, and it seems you may have been the only one who still had doubts, because he melts into you before you can rethink the issue.

His lips are pliant and his body follows suit, drawn to yours in a way that makes you keenly aware for the first time of the true meaning of the word "attraction". There's a need in the seeking of his mouth and his hands that you've only ever heard, and only from him. 

You're dizzy.

He whimpers, desperate and uncharacteristically exposed. The sound you make in return may have been his name, if only he hadn't swallowed it down.

It's all the persuasion he needs, and it's easy for him to tip you back when you feel so weak, his hand gliding over your shoulder. He flicks out his tongue, questioningly and almost timid, and your jaw falls slack for him, your breath mingling with his.

His exploration of your mouth is slow and shallow, and his rhythm clashes with your own. He makes a frustrated grunt when he can't get it to work, so you reach up to cup his head and stroke the other hand down his spine soothingly, and move your tongue against his in a steady, even pace until he catches on.

When he falls into sync with you, it gives him the confidence to probe deeper. It's nervewracking and it's exquisite and it's the most emotion you've ever felt in a kiss. His torso blankets yours, and when he pulls away to meet your gaze you find the heavy warmth of it oddly soothing.

"Wow," he says.

"Are you okay?" you feel obligated to ask.

"Are you kidding?" His chuckle is breathy, just one quick puff of air against your lips. "That was amazing." The sheer awe in his expression seems to back up his claim.

You stroke his cheek softly, and find yourself entranced by the way he seems to involuntarily lean into the touch.

He tilts his head further and dips in close once more, so close that you can feel the feverish flushing of his cheeks. "Can I do it again?"

You should probably say no. Instead, you nudge him down a second time.

He wants this. He makes it known and he leaves no room for argument, filling the air with private but ecstatic sound and surrounding you with sensation.

You let yourself want it, too.

What's done is done. You can't take it back. You can't change the fact that he gave you his first kiss. You can't change that you allowed, even encouraged it to happen. 

You can't--nor do you want to--change how _good_ it feels.

What you _can_ do is make it the best experience possible. It may technically be his second kiss, now, but you figure it still counts. You have advantages over others he could have picked. You have experience, but more than that you know him and you care about him in a way you couldn't guarantee another partner would.

Some would argue that this was a mistake, but you would never intentionally hurt your bro. Not like someone else might.

You take control and you guide him to slow from where he's gone into a frenzy. You pet and scratch gently at the back of his neck, and you languidly suckle at his tongue and bottom lip. 

You hold him close and you kiss him for what seems like ages, and you put every ounce of devotion you feel for him into the act.

It courses through you, a tide that crumbles castle walls, a heat that immolates your resistance. 

Some things are fragile, like the fine line separating love from lust.

You've never loved anyone so fully as you love your brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun duuuuun~~!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feelings are hard.

After some time, he pulls away abruptly.

In an instant, the fear that had finally started to abate comes crashing back. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he pants. "If anything, it's a little too right."

You pet his cheek, frowning slightly. "Having doubts?"

He chuckles airily, dropping his forehead to rest against yours. "Fuck no. Just, uh. Gotta use the bathroom."

Oh. You unwind your arms from around him. 

He gets up, slightly curled into himself and blushing, but biting his lip in a way that looks vaguely amused. "Be back in a sec."

"Uh-huh." You watch him go, then flop back. Despite yourself, you laugh.

When he returns and cuddles back up with you, you think that everything might be okay.

\--------

It isn't until hours later, when he's fallen deep into sleep and your own arousal fades, that the guilt begins to set in again. It seeps into your waning consciousness, and it infiltrates your dreams.

\--------

You monitor him over the next few days to make sure he doesn't show any signs of being bothered by what happened.

He's acting happy, actually. Openly so, for Dirk. He seems to be having issues keeping his poker face in check, which even lately is usually a bigger problem for you than for him. He's joking around with you more or less freely, and he's finding whatever excuse he can to touch you.

Currently, he appears to have dropped all pretense, because he's holding you from behind and mouthing at your neck while you attempt to make breakfast.

"Bro." Nothing. "Dirk."

"Mmn?"

You pick up a piece of finished bacon and hold it up in front of him in a bid to distract him. "Trying to cook."

He eats it, then immediately goes back to necking you.

You groan, careful to make it sound more annoyed than the alternative, and lean for him. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying to get something from me."

He hums, then whispers into your ear. "And if I am?"

"I thought you wanted _a_ kiss. Singular. I already gave you two."

His tone is almost too smug for your liking. "I never said I wanted to stop at one. I just said I wouldn't ask for anything beyond kissing." 

You swat one of his hands with your spatula. "I'll think about it. Let me finish breakfast."

He laughs. "Okay, okay." He steals another slice of bacon, and licks the egg off his hand as he goes to spread out on the couch. 

Your interactions feel comfortable. Domestic, even. You aren't quite sure how to feel about that.

When you're done he takes his plate and digs in casually, as if he didn't just just proposition his older brother for sloppy makeouts.

You sit beside him with your own. "Not even gonna thank me?"

He leans over and pecks your cheek. "Thanks, Bro."

You lower your shades, just to roll your eyes at him.

"What? You expect to kiss me, like _that_ , and then not have me come back for more? You should be glad I waited this long, and haven't just jumped you."

You point your fork at him. "I'm your brother."

He looks at you like you're stupid. "I know."

"I'm like twice your age."

"And?"

"I raised you."

"I was there."

"You're a minor."

He deadpans, "But I'm not a kid."

You're getting frustrated. "You're still _my_ kid."

He drops his fork to his plate, then sets his plate down on his lap. "And you loved making out with your kid, so what's that make you?"

You take a deep breath and do that counting to ten thing Rose keeps harping on about. It only helps a little.

Before you manage to say anything, Dirk drops his head and tips his shades down to rub the bridge of his nose. "Look. You've spent the last couple days treating me like I'm made of fuckin' glass. I been doing everything I can to show you that the other night was one of the best experiences of my life. But you wanna make it into the worst? You want me to feel like a victim? Good job, Bro. You did it." He turns to stare at you expectantly.

You feel like you just got punched in the gut. 

"Either you man up and deal with the consequences of your actions, or you go to work and fuck off. Because I can deal with a lot of shit, but this? Why can't you just accept the fact that I like you as more than just a brother, and you like me just as much?" 

You turn to him. "I'm trying to protect you."

"From what?" When he gets nothing in response, he reaches up and pulls your shades off, then removes his own as well. "I want you to look me in the eyes, and I want you to tell me to my face that I'm someone who needs protecting."

You stay silent, averting your eyes and picking at your food.

"What do you need from me to prove I'm okay? Need to strife so I can kick your ass and show you that you can't rape me? Need me to do a research paper on the hormonal and psychological effects of making out to show I comprehend this? What?" He moves his plate to the table, then does the same to yours. "Talk to me, Dave."

You rub your face. "I'm not just anyone. This isn't normal."

"I already told you I know that."

"I'm supposed to be responsible for you. I'm supposed to protect you, not..."

He cuts you off before you can continue. "Bro, just _stop_. Let me make my own mistakes. Maybe this is a dumb decision, but if it is, I wanna be dumb for once. How old were you when you lost your virginity? Older or younger than me?"

You purse your lips. "Younger."

"How was it?"

"What does this have to do with anything?"

"If you coulda had your first time with someone you knew closely, who'd proven throughout your whole life that they'd give the world for you, would you have done it?"

Once again, you can't speak.

"Sex is a lot more serious than what I'm asking of you. And if you were already old enough to be having sex and raising me, then I'm old enough to decide if I wanna keep kissing you." He almost sets his free hand on your knee, then thinks better of it. "If you wanna stop because you don't want it, or you're worried about what people will think of you, or about getting in trouble, then fine. I'll back off. But if you're doing this 'for my own good', then stop that bullshit right now and trust that I'm mature enough to make my own decisions."

"Dirk, it's not you I don't trust."

"I trust you." He reaches over and grabs your shoulders, forcing you to look at him again. "Why do you think I'm so cool with this? You're the one person in the world I don't have to worry about overstepping my boundaries, the one person I know will do everything he can to keep me happy, the _one_ person who will never just get up and abandon me because you've decided I'm not worth your time." He tightens his fingers, punctuating his words with small shakes. "You're. Not. Going. To hurt. Me."

You deflate, and you're relieved when he feels the change and lets you go. "What do you want out of this? Are you just experimenting? Do you want a relationship?"

"I don't know. All I know is that I'm not ready to stop." 

"Alright." You have to struggle not to look away again. "First of all, do you understand that if someone found out about this, they might try to take you away from me?"

He doesn't miss a beat. "I wouldn't let them."

"You might not be given that choice. This is serious, Dirk. Even if I didn't lose you and even if we never go past kissing, incest is kind of a big deal to a lot of people, especially when it involves someone underage. You also have to remember how high-profile my job is. If word got out, the whole country'd probably know in a matter of days."

"Don't you think I know that?"

"Then act like it."

"Nobody's gonna find out. Besides, we already did it. If you didn't want to take the risk, why'd you open Pandora's Box?" He gives you a moment to respond, and continues when you don't. "And come on; we've been sleeping in the same bed for like a year-and-a-half and nobody knows about that, except Rose."

You blink. "You know about Rose?"

"Well, yeah. She told me you'd been coming to talk to her."

You're gonna kill her. "When?"

"When I pestered her about the wet dreams."

You kind of want to facepalm, but resist the urge. "Look, it's not..."

"Then what is it?"

"The longer we do this, the deeper into it we're probably gonna get, and the more it's gonna mean. The more it means, the more we're gonna wish we had someone to talk to, and you never know who you can trust about this kinda shit."

"Except Rose."

"I don't know that she'd be so supportive if she found out we'd actually taken it this far."

"We could check. I could tell her I had the hots for you and see how she reacted."

You cover your face, and speak through the palm of your hand, voice muffled. "We're getting off-track."

"No, you're just beating around the bush, and I keep shooting down your points."

"Will you stop being so cocky, and admit there are problems with this?"

"Will you stop being so paranoid, and admit that we're both smart enough to deal?"

You close your eyes and give yourself a moment to think. "If this is a phase, you're gonna have to eventually deal with a future partner asking about your relationship history."

"Yeah, already got that covered. I'll tell 'em I experimented with kissing someone I knew when I was a kid. That shit happens to people all the time, and it ain't a lie. Plus, again, kinda late to keep that from being an issue." He gives you a look that challenges you to refute him.

You ignore it, just trying to get your concerns out in the open. "And you and I could never have a normal relationship."

"It wouldn't be the weirdest thing about my life."

"I'm not so sure about that."

He closes his eyes, and when he opens them his poker face is back full-force. Without his shades, his orange eyes bore right through you. "Do you want this or not? If you don't, just tell me instead of making up excuses. If you do, I need to know what you're _really_ afraid of."

You're a deer in headlights. "I want it."

"Then what's wrong?"

"I want it too much."

"What's that mean?"

"I don't know if I could deal if it was just a phase."

His mask cracks, just barely. "What?"

"Taking advantage of you isn't the only thing I'm worried about, with our age difference. It may not even be the biggest thing." You're still having trouble holding his gaze without your shield, so you take his hand and hold onto it for strength. "When you're sixteen, feelings come and they go. I know. I've been there. I'm not sixteen anymore. I have almost twice that time on you and way more experience than even you know. And in all that time, I've never felt this strongly for someone I care about this much. I'm old and I'm lonely and I'm set in my ways."

His voice is almost imperceptibly shaky, "What are you telling me?"

You squeeze his hand and force yourself to continue to look at him. He deserves as much, for this. "I love you, Dirk. You know that. I don't know if I can deal with falling in love with you."

His voice suddenly isn't the only thing shaking, and his eyes are wide. "Do you think you could? Fall in love with me?"

You're almost as quiet as he's gone. "I don't know."

He clings to your hand like a lifeline. "It just felt so good, Bro."

"I know. That's why I'm scared." Admitting it makes your stomach tie in knots as you really let the fear wash over you. It's awful and overwhelming and you kind of wish you'd chosen to hold it in like you normally would.

He makes a small snuffling noise, though his eyes are dry. "This isn't just gonna go away, you know."

"I know."

"I don't know what else to do. It's been hell since then. Like I've been so close, but so damn far away."

You nod your assent.

"Don't take away the rest of it, too. Losing you because of this wouldn't be any better than what you said."

"I don't think I could."

"What if we're already in too deep? I feel like I might be."

You lean in and kiss him, softly, just once, like you used to. It doesn't feel like it did before. "Give me a day to think about it?"

His eyes are closed, his chin still tilted up and lips parted slightly from the kiss. He seems to savor the feeling for a moment, before he squeezes your hand and sets it down. "Okay."

You doubt a day will change things, but you at least have to try. 

You make an attempt to act like things are normal and finish your food, but it's gone cold and you don't really feel hungry anymore.

\--------

You have one of the most awkward work days of your life, followed by one of the most fitful sleeps. 

\--------

The next morning, your movements are careful. You slowly shift Dirk onto his back, and lean over him. You watch his face, and consider your choice.

You kiss him tenderly, enticing him into wakefulness. You can only hope he'll appreciate the surprise.

He makes a bewildered little mewl, his eyes fluttering open.

You smile down at him, or try to.

"Oh," he says, and drags you back in.

You slide an arm behind his neck and tilt your head, parting your lips. You let your other hand run down his side to rest on his waist. 

He winds his hands into your hair and arches towards you, then does the opposite, spine bowing down into the mattress and legs curling upwards. The sound he makes is not dissimilar to the sleepy ones he lets loose while dreaming. 

It feels like opening a pressure valve to be kissing him again. It's exciting and it's gut-wrenching in the best way. It's new and strange, and yet you find it easy to fall back into. Natural.

He meets no resistance when he presses his tongue against yours. He tastes a little foul after the night and you probably do as well, but it doesn't seem to dissauade either of you.

He sounds a bit husky when you break apart, and you suspect it's only partially from sleep. "Knew you couldn't keep away from me forever."

You force a chuckle and risk a trail of soft kisses down his jaw, then whisper into his ear. "Shut up before I change my mind."

"You'd better not." He pulls you back and continues where you left off. Between kisses, he says, "Promise me you won't freak out again."

"I promise to try."

He bites your bottom lip, just hard enough to send a jolt straight down your spine. "Not good enough."

"Not fair."

"Promise me that, unless something changes and gives you an actual legit _reason_ to do an acrobatic fuckin' pirouette off the handle, you'll stop worrying yourself over stuff that hasn't happened yet."

You sigh, unable to keep a bit of a smirk off your face. "Okay. I promise."

"We're cool?"

"Yeah," you tell him, and you find his lips with yours. "Always."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gave me the most trouble of any so far. I've had it written forever, but it contained both some of my favorite parts and some of my least. Editing is always so much worse than actually writing. I finally feel happy with how it came out. Hope you enjoyed, and thanks for reading! ♥


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes priorities get a little skewed.

Looking back, you realize it's hard to find your tipping point. There was a time, not that long ago, when you wouldn't have even considered that you could feel this way about your brother. That kind of thing just doesn't happen.

But the thought never really disgusted you. Scandalized you, maybe. Scared you, definitely, but you can't think of a time that it repulsed you like you think it would most people.

You can't imagine being grossed out by anything regarding Dirk.

Nonetheless, you can't really figure out the moment when ambivalence became attraction. You never experienced the, "Yeah, I wanna tap that," moment that signaled you to hit on others. Sure, your bro is objectively attractive, and maybe a bit of that is narcissism speaking. So sue you. But you can't think of a time before Dirk that you actually looked at someone's personality first, and for the first time in your life you feel like a bit of a pig. The thought of treating him that way makes your stomach clench with the first hints of nausea.

You don't know when this started. All you know is that he's your everything, and you've never felt so adequate in expressing it as when you kiss him and he looks at you like you've given him something precious.

You should probably find a healthier way of showing it than macking on him. You just don't know if anything could ever compare again.

You worked your ass off for him. You pushed yourself harder than you ever thought you could, became more than you ever imagined you could be. He made you into something great, and you gave him everything except the attention he deserved.

You're going to change that, and if this is how you're gonna do it, you're gonna pull out all the stops. You'll take his breath away every time, and then give him yours to make up for it. 

More than that, you're gonna do your best to treat him with the kind of respect you wish you'd gotten at his age.

You didn't miss the minor detail, when he first brought this up, that he only said he wouldn't ask for more, not that he didn't want it. It almost seems like he was leaving it up to you for legal reasons, and you don't think that's fair. "You know, you don't have to hold back."

"What?"

"I was fifteen. I was trying to feel like a grownup, I guess, and a little less alone. It didn't really help, but you know what? It didn't really hurt, either."

His eyes are wide. "You're talking about sex."

"Or whatever. I ain't gonna force you into doing anything, but I'd be a hypocrite if I forced you to wait, if you feel like you're ready before eighteen. That's your decision to make, not mine. You were right. If you were out there somewhere, I couldn't protect you from doing something you'd regret. It seems kind of absurd that I'd try and decide for you what you _should_ regret, just because you're here."

He chews over your words for a moment, then asks, "Anything?"

You cup his neck with your hand. "As much, or as little as you want. I want you to feel like it's safe to be open with me, okay?"

"Okay." He kisses you, then says in a slightly subdued tone, as if testing his boundaries, "I wanna stay this time."

You nod and kiss him again.

It doesn't take him long to get worked up. His sounds are as quiet as they always seem to be, but he lets more desperation creep into them than he has in the past. He shifts a little to balance over you, then his hand moves off your chest and down his body.

"Dave," he pleads, and the _need_ in it makes your blood run hot.

"I'm here, baby." You don't mean to say it. It comes out as a weird mix of the romantic and familial meanings, and the second you realize, time feels like it slows to a snail's pace around you, and your breathing dies in your throat.

He gasps deeply, eyes squeezing shut and a shudder running down his body. " _Say that again_..."

You swallow, your voice coming out a hushed whisper. "I'm here, baby."

He drops his head into the crook of your neck and rocks against his hand. "Yeah..."

You can't decide whether to hold your breath or hyperventilate. 

"You can touch yourself, too."

You really don't know if you can, even though you definitely want to. You bite your lip to hold back any noise, though a whining sound bubbles up your throat anyway.

Dirk kisses your neck. "Please touch yourself."

"Oh, god." Your hand shifts itself as if possessed.

He doesn't say anything more. He just moves and lets out little moans into your ear, like he's making them just for you.

You realize belatedly that he is, and your hips buck slightly at the epiphany. You mouth at his jaw, heady and lacking your usual control. It ends up a little wet and messy as a result.

He kisses you desperately and it's over in moments.

There's a ringing in the otherwise silent room, like the aftermath of an explosion. Your stomach is wet, and it isn't just because of you. There are lips against yours, and as tame as it all is compared to some of the shit you've done, your everything feels electric with the thrill of it.

"Fuck," he says.

"Yeah," you concede.

\-------

A few days later, Dirk brandishes a piece of paper at you accusatorily. "The hell is this?"

"That is something you should expect from any future partner."

"Isn't this a little excessive?"

"I like being thorough. It makes me feel better."

"I didn't even know what half of these were. I looked them up, Dave. You would _know_ if you had a chanchroid. Also, the pictures were hella gross and I hate you."

"And that's why I don't wanna risk giving it to you if we ever get to that point."

He throws his hands up in exasperation, the lab results crinkling in his fist. "And that means you risked getting it and that other shit in the first place!"

You snap back, before you catch you're being somewhat defensive. "I've been with two people since I last got tested. I used protection with both of them. I was 99.99% sure I didn't catch anything, but you're worth being too careful for, okay?"

He drops his hands. "I don't know whether to be flattered or hit you."

You smirk slightly. "We could strife."

He flips the papers face down on the kitchen counter, his palm making a light smacking sound against the marble. "You're on."

You go to get your sword and rush out of your penthouse, the two of you immediately starting the scuffle and trying to shove each other out of the elevator doors. The sound of clashing steel echoes in the tiny space before Dirk ducks out and through the door next to the lift.

"Cheater!" you yell after him with a breathy laugh. Bitch knows you're not good with stairs. That's why you bought a place with an elevator to the roof in the first place.

You ready your stance as you ascend, knowing he'll be prepared for you when you get up there. You doubt he'll completely ambush you, but you're at a distinct sight disadvantage if he's not waiting right in front of the door.

He knows better, and when the ding sounds everything seems all clear. You roll out so you can turn and check your blindspots, and are only halfway back to standing when Dirk comes at you from the left. You flatten your sword to block his swing, pushing him back with your momentum and both hands as you finish getting up.

He responds to the resistance by immediately switching direction, pivoting out of your way instead of being thrown backwards into a vulnerable position.

Everything becomes a blur after that, Dirk's instinct and raw skill against your experience. Your heart races and your breath quickens, the clashing of blades the background beat to your dance. Despite your relatively smaller build, Dirk's always been the quicker fighter, coming at you two moves to every one of yours, and swiftly dodging when the tides turn. You hold your ground and block with your heavier sword, letting him wear himself down and then going in for calculated attacks.

Just when he seems to be getting tired and you think you may have this spar in the bag, Dirk realizes he's losing ground and switches to brute force.

There's a high "ting" sound that makes your teeth rattle as he pushes his weight into the next strike. When he comes down again, the old, cheap blade you got from your dad gives in to the masterwork katana you got him for his fourteenth birthday.

In that moment, the absurd thought hits you that you suddenly understand bullet time. You're keenly aware of the sharp edge coming towards you and the bite of your own broken blade against your right hand as it falls.

Dirk may be faster, but you still aren't slow. You manage to dodge in time for the tip of Dirk's katana to catch the fabric of your shirt. The top half of your sword clangs against the roof and the both of you freeze in shock.

"You're bleeding," he says.

You look down at your chest. There's the barest pink line down your sternum between the parted fabric of your tee.

Dirk drops his weapon and comes over to take your hand.

"Oh," you mutter, still trying to process what just happened. 

There's a cut between the heart and head lines of your palm. Blood pools in both creases as Dirk examines the damage. He sighs in relief when he realizes it's not that bad. "We should get this wrapped."

You look at the half a sword still clutched tightly to your left and whistle. "Damn."

He recovers his own sword, gingerly picks up the tip of yours, and then holds the elevator doors for you. He's pale, his lips drawn into a fine line.

You follow and go down with him, then put everything away and let him take you to the bathroom to dress your wound.

"I'm sorry about your sword."

"It's okay."

"...I'm more sorry about your hand."

"It's okay." It's really not, but not because of anything Dirk did.

"Are you alright?"

"I'll be fine."

He levels a glare at you. " _Are_ you alright?"

You sigh. " Just shaken."

He bows his head to concentrate on the bandages. "Yeah."

You lean down to try and meet his gaze. "Proud of you. That was pretty badass."

He raises a brow over his shades and shakes his head. "Not the time, Bro."

You grumble, "Just trying to lighten the mood."

The room goes quiet, save for the sounds of the first aid kit and your own occasional slight hisses of pain. "All done, you big baby," he says softly when he finishes.

You flex your hand and examine his handiwork. "Hey, I'm not allowed to say I'm proud of you, but you're allowed to call me a baby?"

"You can be proud of me when I'm not freaking over almost killing you." He reaches up and slides a hand into the cut in your shirt, running it down the scratch beneath. "Sorry about your shirt, too."

His fingers are cold, but they make you feel warm. "It's okay."

He leans up to kiss you, fear-tinged desperation making it rough. He reaches up and grips your hair like he's trying to keep you from being able to escape.

You return the kiss and you echo his terror. 

You wonder if he thinks you're scared for yourself.

\--------

You're a pretty physical person when given half the chance, so every time you're with him you find yourself touching. Unfortunately, touching means you're reminded over and over again of what happened.

"I'm supposed to protect you," you tell his sleeping form that night, and wonder why you used to worry more about protecting him from your love.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you wonder if everyone else knows you better than you do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one doesn't have a lot of Dirk, but it has plenty of Rose. Hope you enjoy!

You put your broken sword in a shadow box and hang it in your room. Despite Dirk's initial hesitation, he admits it does look pretty rad and that he still can't quite believe he managed to do what he did. Then he tells you to stop fawning over him, and punches you in the shoulder.

Oh well.

Neither of you really brings the incident up, except when he forces you into letting him change your bandages. Other than that, things go back to normal, or at least back to the new normal you two seem to have set up.

You don't buy a new sword.

He notices, but says nothing.

\--------

When Rose answers her door, she flicks her eyes over your face and body, gauging you for any signs of emotional instability. It's a habit she picked up after the wet dream incident, and even a year later you aren't quite sure if it makes you uncomfortable or if you find it kind of thoughtful.

You decide not to let her analyze you for long. You whip a bouquet from behind your back and take a shallow bow. "Milady."

She raises her brows at you, then asks with blatant skepticism, "What do you want, Dave?"

You gasp, as melodramatically as you can, clasping your free hand--still bandaged--over your heart. "Are you accusing me of having an ulterior motive? What, I can't bring flowers to a lady, out of the goodness of my heart? I even pre-wilted them for you. Does that mean nothing to you? How could you be so cold, not to be moved by this sick show of chivalry, impressed by this totally selfless act of valiant forethought? I have a code of honor, you know. I am bound, by my duties as a Knight of the Turntable, never to think of myself. I can't break the code, Rose. Nobody can break the code. It is literally impossible, like Merlin his fuckin' self came down and went, 'Yo, you break this completely legit unspoken code of conduct about proper treatment of feisty broads, and I'll Mad Madam Mim your ass.' Serious shit. Do you want me to become a crazy forest witch, Lalonde? _Do you_?"

She just keeps staring at you.

"Yeah, okay. You got me. Can we talk?"

She takes the bouquet, moves aside, and gestures you in the door. "Tea?"

"Yeah, sure. Thanks." You look around for the house's other resident, before you catch a faint, telltale rhythmic noise coming from across the house. "Kanaya sewing?"

"Yes. Did you need to speak to her, as well?"

"Nah, probably best we just keep it between you and me."

She nods. "That shouldn't be a problem. Take a seat."

You do. You jiggle your legs to a silent beat, and remember the last time you were here for something serious. You've visited since then, many times, but that day changed things. It made you more vulnerable in Rose's eyes, you think, or at least it made her feel more comfortable in analyzing you seriously instead of sarcastically. She's been gentler with you since then. You wonder, as she returns with the tea, if this will make it worse or if you can hold yourself together.

"So, what brings you to my humble abode on this fair afternoon?" She sets the tray on the table between you, and you're slightly happy to see she's included a vase with the flowers you brought.

You raise your hand so she can see the bandages. "Strife went wrong. Not sure how to react."

"You've been injured before, yes? What makes this time different? Is Dirk alright?"

"Dirk's fine." You're glad you can say that much. "He's a little shaken, but my hand's really the only injury, and it isn't even that bad. Difference is how it happened."

She prepares both of your cups for you, then passes your saucer across. "Go on."

"Thanks. I mean, Dirk and I trained our asses off before we switched to real swords. We've both got a lot of control. But this wasn't something we could predict. My sword broke when I was blocking, and he just barely missed me when it gave. And it just made me realize something could go wrong at any time."

She sips. "So you're having doubts on whether it was right for you to allow this to take place with real weapons, correct?"

"Basically, yeah."

"And guilt for putting Dirk and yourself in potential danger."

"Mostly Dirk."

"What do you actually want to come from this conversation? Advice, reassurance?"

You shrug. "Maybe both?"

"I must start by saying that, if you are expecting me to condone your fighting with sharpened swords, that I cannot do so in good faith. It was reckless, and if you are not training to go to war or engage in other true battle, there is absolutely no reason you shouldn't have used artifical or blunted blades."

"Ouch." It's harsh, but you did sort of already come to that conclusion.

"You are lucky that it did not go as badly as it could have. That being said, I admit that I was remiss in not saying something earlier, given that I knew."

You don't respond to that. On one hand, she's right, but this is also not her responsibility. You really should have known better.

"As for what to do, I would suggest simply trading out for safer equpment. I doubt Dirk will take kindly to your ceasing the sparring completely. He is proud, and it is possible he is also feeling guilt, if it seems it was he who caused your injury."

You nod. "I'd thought about the pride part." How could you not, after his lecture about not needing to be protected? "And he said he was freaked out by it. I didn't even think he might have blamed himself, though. I just thought he was shaken up from the close call. If he's feeling guilty, wouldn't that make him want to stop?"

"If he is unaware of _your_ guilt, which it is more than likely he is, he may suspect that, by stopping, you are blaming him for the mishap."

"What? Why the hell would he think that?"

"The both of you have a tendency towards self-depreciation. It is, at times, easier to blame oneself than to ponder things from another perspective."

"So it's still a pride thing. If I stop, he may think I'm saying he's not good enough to do it safely."

"You should speak to him about it. It isn't only pride. He cares about you a great deal."

That might be an understatement.

She pauses, ruminating over her next words. "He also relies on you, more than I think you know. I wasn't sure whether to bring this up, as I have a strict policy of confidentiality, but your brother has already spoken to me about this incident."

"Really?" You don't mention that you're well aware she's told Dirk you've talked to her before.

"I do not think he would take kindly to your attitude of putting his safety before your own, particularly given you were the one who was at the most risk. His confidence in his abilities was indeed shaken, but more than that he has had his eyes opened to the possiblity that something could happen that could remove you from his life."

"You mean...?"

"He is afraid of losing you."

"Right..." you trail off. You find it's hard to swallow tea around a lump in your throat. You will definitely need to talk to Dirk.

"I got the feeling from him that this instance brought up another, deeper insecurity, but he was not forthcoming as to what this was. Are you aware of what it could be? Perhaps it would be helpful towards dealing with this."

Your brain goes over the possibilities. Could it be related to your relationship? Dirk seemed so sure nothing would happen to either of you related to that. Maybe it's about how you weren't around as much as you should have been as he was growing up, or maybe he's picked up on the fears you gained from losing your parents. Does he remember that? Is there something else you don't know about? Could Rose have misread Dirk? You don't know her to be wrong about these things often. 

Rose leans towards you. "Dave?"

"I don't know," you say, too quietly. Damn it, you were trying not to let things get awkward again.

She scrutinizes you, with that look like she's trying to see deep into you, that gaze that seems like she could pull your secrets out in the open if she kept looking. "Is everything alright between the two of you?"

You feel your cheeks pricking with heat and mentally curse yourself for it. "Yeah. Everything's great."

"You don't seem so sure."

"No, I'm sure. We're..." You scratch the back of your head, "We're fantastic, but I'm just not very good at this. I know him better than I know anyone, but you can still probably read him better than I do. How am I supposed to know if I'm doing right by him?"

She chuckles lightly. "How about you ask him? Let me tell you a little secret."

"Okay?"

"All I can give you are conjectures, Dave. I don't know everything. In fact, I don't know anything for certain. I just happen to have a particularly well-developed sense of intuition."

"Okay, so how does that help me? That just means I can't come to you to have you tell me what's up." You are aware you're being pouty.

She gives you that knowing smile, the kind that makes you doubt her words are true at all. "What an imposition I've placed upon you. Why, you'll actually have to talk to the person you're worried about."

"Snarky bitch." There's no venom in your words.

"I truly don't understand what you're so worried about. If things really are fantastic, as you say, there should be no reason to fear speaking with him."

"I don't know, Rose. Things are just really different already." You feel the heat returning to your face and do your best to ignore it. "It's not bad." It's actually really good, but you're already barely keeping in your embarassment without saying that. "It's just a lot to deal with at once. Ever since he had that nightmare, everything's changed."

"What are you trying to hold on to, that would make change so intimidating?"

You think about that for a bit, but come up with nothing. "Dunno. What's your intuition say?" You might regret asking that.

She ponders as well, tapping a finger above her black lips. "Perhaps it's simply a character trait. You have a love for the photographic arts, yes?"

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"And you do seem attracted to collecting well-preserved specimens. Both are hobbies which seem to freeze time in its tracks."

"Hrm," you add, unhelpfully.

"Granted, I was under the impression that most of Dirk's actions were more of a regression. A shift towards what was, rather than what could be."

"Sorta," you murmur cautiously, bringing your cup to your lips.

She barely seems to be paying attention to you anymore, just discussing with herself out loud. "Or it could very well be a fear of intimacy, rather than of change."

You are definitely getting uncomfortable, and you shift awkwardly in your seat.

She picks that moment to look at you again, and lets out a short, breathy laugh. It comes across as vaguely pitying. "There's nothing to be embarassed about, Dave. I assure you."

If only she knew.

"Both you and Dirk have seemed significantly happier lately. You are doing quite well, if you ask me. I think perhaps I should just wish you a good evening. I believe speaking to Dirk will ease your mind, once you are past the initial intimidation."

"How close should brothers be?" you ask, again against your better judgment.

"Hmm?" She tilts her head slightly, puzzled.

"Like, is it normal for a teen and his older bro to be real close? Like, ridiculously close?" Possibly inappropriately close, you don't add. "Like, aren't teenagers supposed to be all rebellious and shit?"

She chuckles again. "I think Dirk's already been through his rebellious stage and deemed it inadequate."

"Yeah, guess so." You rub the back of your neck.

"Why would you be worried about growing closer to him? I don't see how that could be anything but a good thing."

"Just been wondering for a while if I need to let him out of the nest."

"Do you feel you've been stifling him?"

"Not on purpose." You know you're probably running in circles about this, but you just can't seem to get past it. Maybe a second opinion will help you move on.

"Do Dirk's social interactions seem to have suffered since you two grew together?"

"I don't know. Most of his social life has always been online. I don't think it's gotten worse, but I dunno that it's gotten any better?"

"Online is not necessarily a bad thing. It of course has certain disadvantages, but it can provide connections one wouldn't make if limited to their physical proximity. If you're worried, however, I would suggest taking an interest in his social life, if you have not already. It could provide a means for you to grow closer, while also assuring you do not grow possessive."

Your cheeks are more than pricking. You're pretty sure you just flushed.

"By your reaction, I take it I just pinpointed the root of your insecurities?"

"Fuck. How could I not have asked him about his friends? I don't even think I know their names." You groan, your head in your hands.

"I think it is time for you to go home, Dave."

You rub your face under your shades, then you nod. "Yeah. I think you're right."

\--------

When you walk in, Dirk is on the couch, playing a fighting game. You can appreciate the irony. You sit next to him and pick up a controller, joining in as Player 2.

"Hey," he says casually.

"Yo."

"How's Rose?" He does a combo that quickly sends you flying out of the ring. Instead of whooping in victory like he normally would, he winces, just barely. He starts the next round wordlessly.

"She's fine." 

You have a lot of ground to cover.


End file.
